by Stacy Reid
His low chuckle rolled through the cottage, heated and gravelly, the sound one of ridiculous temptation. Thick, hot tension swirled around them.
“I have more wealth than you believe.”
Her eyes widened. She had not expected him to say that. “I have never speculated on your money; it does not matter to me.”
“I know, but it will matter to your family. And I believe when I make my wealth and stature known, my courtship will be welcomed.”
Pain stabbed at the very heart of her. No, it would not. Her family would see him as beneath their lofty expectations though they were of the same social standing. An association with Calydon would not make Mikhail’s suit welcomed. He worked…and he was wonderfully ordinary. They would not see the honor in this man, his kindness, or the fact that he would treat her as an equal. Payton did not know how to explain that this moment they were sharing might well be the last, once he expressed his interest to her family.
They would do everything in their power to ensure nothing or anyone so unconnected foiled their grand expectations. The pressure to wed Lord Jensen would mount, and she would either crumble or flee. She understood enough of English laws to know she could not run away with Mikhail and marry him without permission. Not even to Scotland and the famous Gretna Green she had read so much about in her romantic novels. If only her twenty-first birthday was not almost a year away. Payton feared the only moment she could have him was now, and she wanted his kisses and to dwell in a moment that was simply for her.
“I desire you to kiss me, Mikhail.” This was her choice. “I want to feel your lips against mine, and I need to savor your taste once more.”
A breath hissed from between his teeth, and carnality shifted across his face and settled like a second skin. “You are dangerous,” he murmured.
Pleasure pulsed through her. “It is kind of you to say so…but I assure you, I am quite ordinary.”
“No other woman has ever made my cock harden and my heart pound with a simple request for a kiss.”
Good heavens. Curiosity beat against decorum…and won. “What is your cock?”
“Hell!” His eyes darkened to the deepest shade of blue, and tension coiled his frame. “You must not touch me…no matter the temptation.”
Her throat dried, and she nodded weakly.
In a lightning fast move, he tugged her to him, and she tumbled into his embrace. He slanted his lips over hers, drawing a moan of pure need from the depth of her being. His taste was flavored with a hint of brandy, chocolate…and shocking eroticism.
She stood on her toes, sinking further into his wild kiss, losing herself and blindly twining her fingers through the hair curling at the nape of his neck.
He froze, his teeth sinking into her lower lips, lashing her with sensuous pain.
She stilled, her heart jerking erratically. “It is hard not to touch you,” she confessed brokenly. “You kiss me, and I lose a piece of myself, unable to remember my promise.”
Mikhail cursed under his breath, pulled from her and with rough movements drew his shirt over his head. Payton’s knees wobbled. His naked chest rippled and twisted with strength. He was wonderfully formed, and she wanted so desperately to glide her fingertips across the expanse of his chest. Without speaking he walked to the wall where a sharp peg jutted and looped his shirt over it, then he grabbed the narrow bed and pushed it under the peg.
Payton couldn’t speak. Anticipation and nerves twisted inside of her in equal measure.
“Come here.”
The stark lines of his face were heightened by desire, the curve of his lips hinted at domineering sensuality, and if she were honest, she was a bit intimidated by his intensity, yet she was pulled to his side by the need trembling between them, and the knowledge she may never get such an opportunity to taste passion with this man again, this man who was her choice.
Payton sat on the cot, her feet barely touching the stone floor, her heart a drumbeat in her ears. The rumble of the thunder and the lash of the rain on the roof of the cottage did nothing to soothe her aroused anxiety. “What now?” Her voice was husky with need and the apprehension she tried to hide.
He moved over and stood in front of her. “Scoot into the center of the bed, raise your arms above your head, and grip my shirt. Do not let go.”
She gasped at the shocking arousal that surged through her veins, and without hesitation, a testament to the trust she placed in him, she complied. The feel of his linen shirt fisted in her hands was an anchor in the midst of the tearing desire shivering through her limbs.
He sat on the bed, and it creaked beneath his weight. “Do you trust me?”
“More than I would have imagined possible,” she breathed.
A slow smile creased his lips, moving him from sensual predator to charming seducer. He lightly encircled her left ankle and pushed to bend her knee, so she sat with her leg drawn up, the sole of her foot flat on the sheets. Her breath hitched when he leaned across, his fathomless eyes holding hers captive, and repeated the action with her other leg.
His eyes flicked to her hands poised above her head, gripping his shirt, before lowering in a heated caress to where she leaned against the small headboard, her bent knees pulling her dress to her shins, her ankles on shocking display.
“Open your legs.”
Her gaze flew to his at the rough command. The deep blue of his eyes glinted with wicked knowledge, and God help her, but Payton complied, parting her legs invitingly.
Approval flared in his eyes. He coasted his fingers up the top of her leg, pushing her dress farther up, letting his thumb drag along the sensitive inside of her left thigh.
She clutched his shirt even tighter as his devilish fingers continued to the apex of her thighs, a frustratingly teasing caress. Without releasing her from his stare, he nudged her legs wider. Need coiled low below her stomach, and a heated throb started at her core. Her eyes widened when he cupped her mons and pressed gently. Pleasure consumed her, shrouding every logical thought.
“Have you ever been touched here?”
A fission of need rippled through her body. “Never.” She pushed the words past her throat. For some reason, when he’d told her to sit on the bed, she had expected kisses. This was wildly inappropriate and simply decadent, but she desperately wanted to hold on to the aching pleasure dampening her drawers. “Touch me,” she moaned, unable to bear the anticipation.
He shifted even closer, and his scent wrapped around her. He pressed a fleeting kiss to her mouth, and she parted her lips and darted her tongue to glide against his, hoping to tempt him into a deeper taste.
Holding her gaze, he shifted her drawers and slid a finger through her curls, down to part her. She was achingly wet and embarrassed.
“Look at me.”
As if she could look elsewhere.
“Do you want me to stop?”
No! “You wouldn’t dare,” she warned.
“You are beautiful in your need. Do not ever be embarrassed to welcome this passion between us.”
She nodded. “I feel as if you are speaking too much, Mikhail.”
He laughed softly, and she leaned forward and stole the air from his mouth. He paused for a fraction, then his tongue stroked past her lips to meet hers in a sensual duel. She whimpered into the kiss when with maddening delicacy, he stroked her wet core with firm pressure, alternating rimming her entrance and flicking against her nub of pleasure. Their kisses grew hungrier, and Payton sobbed against his lips, so intense was the fever burning away all sense of herself. She craved.
He caressed the straining nub at the apex of her thighs over and over. On a sob, she arched up, yearning for the hovering fulfillment.
She squirmed with the need for more, and when he would not comply, she pulled from the kiss, breathing heavily. “I swear if you do not end this torture, I will release your shirt and strangle—”
He pushed two fingers deep into her without warning, sliding through the wetness he had created.
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br /> “Mikhail!” Pleasure and erotic pain lashed at her, causing her limbs to tremble.
“Shhh,” he soothed, brushing her lips with light kisses. He held his fingers still, allowing her to adjust to the wonderful strangeness of them buried so deep.
The only window to the cottage rattled, and the coolest of breezes rushed inside, but it did nothing to lessen the fever of need beating in her blood. “Is there more?” she demanded hoarsely.
“Infinitely,” he murmured, wicked carnality suffusing his features. He withdrew his fingers and thrust in deep and slow. Her hips jerked, she pulsed, shivering deliciously.
“You are so wet and responsive.” He inhaled, and his obvious struggle for control delighted her.
“There is nothing I want more than to draw you underneath me and bury my cock deep.”
Temptation rose in her. There was the strongest possibility she would never feel such bliss again. She waited for the guilt to surface at the idea of going to a husband impure. But it was thankfully absent. “Then make me yours.”
“No, my sweet, not until you are mine.”
She heard the possessive way he said mine, and her throat tightened. “Yes,” she agreed, and he smiled.
“But I will have your taste until that time.”
Her taste?
He withdrew from her, and she gasped as he pushed her day gown and chemisette indecently high. He bunched the material at her waist, gripped her knees, and widened her legs.
“You will be tempted to release my shirt…do not.”
Excitement pulsed through her. She watched him with acute curiosity as he tugged off her drawers, lifting one foot and then the other to remove them. She felt wicked and wanton, free and bold, and she never wanted this encounter to end. He slid his hand underneath her bottom, gripped, and pulled her to the edge of the bed.
His shirt tautened, and she tightened her hold, looping the ends around her wrists. He stared at the intimate part of her, and mortification blushed her entire body. Then he dipped his head and kissed her there.
Sweet merciful heaven.
He ran his tongue over her wet core in a toe-curling swipe.
“Mikhail, please, surely this cannot be decent,” she moaned when he repeated the motion before clamping his teeth over her knot of pleasure and sucked…hard.
Her back bowed, and she gripped the shirt so tightly, she was surprised it did not fly off the peg. Her breath came in shuddering gasps, and a sob rose in her throat when he added his fingers to the sweet torment of his lips.
She tried to scoot back on the bed, overwhelmed by the erotic heat cascading through her blood, but he gripped her hips and brought her even more firmly onto his tongue. All of Payton’s thoughts burned to ashes under the devastating pleasure Mikhail’s incredibly wicked tongue and fingers delivered.
She sobbed his name, undulated her hips, whispers and hoarse cries ripping from her throat. The exquisite sensations built steadily, overwhelming her senses. Without thought she released the grip on his shirt, lowered her hands, and frantically clasped his head. She didn’t know if she wanted to push him away or pull him firmer against her core. The lascivious thought had more heat spreading through her body, beading the tips of her nipples into hard points. They stabbed against her chemisette, desperate for a touch.
She sank her fingers into the thick strands of his hair and gripped tight as uncontrolled shivers scythed through her. His decadent tongue took her to the brink of sanity.
He froze, his teeth clenched with gentle but sensuous precision over her knot of pleasure.
Oh God. I am so sorry.
His eyes lifted to her, and the darkness swirling in his gaze was more than arousal.
Holding his eyes, she eased her fingers from his hair to her side where she fisted the sheets.
He scraped his teeth over her nub, then nipped once, twice, before drawing his tongue over her soaked slit, and thrust his two fingers deep and hard.
Payton shattered. Pulsating waves of pleasure coursed through her, and she tumbled into blissful delight. Despite the ecstasy, a fist of discomfort gripped her heart.
Will you ever allow my touch, Mikhail?
Chapter Eleven
Ice had formed underneath Mikhail’s skin at Payton’s passion-filled touch. He noted the burn of dread was less, but his gut still clenched in acute discomfort. He grimaced at the flash of pain in her eyes, before she lowered her lids, hiding her emotions, including the wanton heat. He had made more strides with Payton than he had with anyone in years. Was it because he liked and admired her? He pooled the dress over her splayed thighs, gently drew the flowing material down to her ankle, and assisted her in sitting up. She had yet to meet his eyes, and regret curled through him. If only.
He sat on the bed and laced their fingers. How could he explain he loved touching her…loved feeling the softness of her skin, but that he had to be the one in control of every caress, whether illicit or simply playful? Would there ever be a time he could relax with her and share his shame? Maybe…
His heart jerked, hard and painful, and he ruthlessly controlled his breathing. This was the first time in years he’d ever had the thought to confess his private hell to someone. Not even his brothers or Calydon knew the full of it…for Mikhail had never spoken of his entire experience under Madam Anya. He didn’t even like to entertain fleeting thoughts of that deceptive bitch, not when he was with Payton.
He reached forward and placed a finger under her chin and applied the slightest of pressure. “Payton.”
She lifted her eyes to his, a tiny wobbly smile on her face.
“I wanted you to touch me. You held my head to your heat and for a wild moment I did not want you to stop. That has never happened to me before.”
A flush rose in her cheek, washing pink across her face in the most becoming manner. “But…then…you did want me to release you?”
“Yes.”
Her wince was subtle, but he spotted it. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed her. The need in him to soothe and offer comfort another way gripped him in a tight vise. It was startling to admit how much her feelings mattered to him. The madness of it did not escape Mikhail. He had only made her acquaintance a mere three days past, and he was sliding too deep…too fast.
She parted her lips and returned his kiss shyly, as if she had not just been lifting her hips in passionate demand. Her breath, a delightful scent of berries, slid over his mouth in a silken caress, and yearning shot through his heart.
Touch me, do not touch me. The dual needs warred, and he gritted his teeth until they ached. “We must—” He stiffened and listened.
Her eyes searched his face. “What is it?”
Blasted hell. “There is someone at the door.”
Her face paled, and she jerked to her feet, staring at the door as if it were an apparition. “I believe you are mistaken, there—”
Her words strangled as her name floated in on the wind, and the door rattled under the pounding of a fist and not the wind.
“Oh my heavens. It is my father!” she said with a horrified gasp.
“I surmised.” Mikhail had lost his head. Never had he imagined someone else followed when she raced away from the estate. But he should have realized they would have organized a search party with the inclement weather. He was so wrapped up in everything about her, he had not been thinking.
With swift movements he dragged his shirt off the peg and drew it on. It was crumpled with a multitude of wrinkles. He pushed the bed back in its slot and straightened the sheets as best he could. Then he turned to Payton.
Christ.
Only am imbecile would miss the flush of passion that still made her skin rosy, and the heavy-lidded arousal, but her anxiety and obvious embarrassment was doing a damn good job of hiding it. Her lips were swollen and red, her hair loose around her in wild disarray. It would be impossible to hide what they had just been doing a few moments ago.
He strode toward the door.
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��What are you doing?” She gasped, rushing over to him.
“I am opening the door.”
“You cannot!” Her hands went to her hair frantically, and with deft movements she gathered the heavy mass and tried to coil in into some sort of knot atop her head. The end result looked ridiculous, but she was filled with too much anxiety for him to point it out.
“Ooh!” She clasped her cheeks. “I cannot believe this is happening. Why would my father follow me? I think we should ignore it; maybe they will search elsewhere,” she said on a hopeful note.
Tenderness curled through Mikhail, and a fierce rush of protective urge swamped him. He would bear her touch even if it killed him, if only to offer comfort. “Come here,” he said, drawing her into his arms.
She flung herself against him and slipped her hands around his waist.
Distaste sliced through him, burning and roiling through his blood, scorching him like a poison-tipped knife. He could feel the frantic beat of her heart vibrating through his body. With a ruthless will he’d not thought himself capable of, he tampered his revulsion and returned her embrace. “It will be well,” he soothed, gently circling her back. “This is unexpected, but we can face it. We are attired as best we can. And it may only be your father outside.” He hoped. The man may have formed a party to search for her.
She groaned into his chest. “I had not even thought that he might have company.”
Hell.
“It is tempting to ignore them, but the other cottages are farther away, and the weather is fierce.”
As if to prove his point the rafter shuddered under a blast of thunder.
“My father is out there in this squall, without shelter,” she said softly.
Sweat beaded on his brows as the burn of her touch became cold, encasing him in ice. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said wretchedly. “I never intended for this to happen!”
“I am not sorry.”
She worried her bottom lip. “They will expect us to marry. It is too soon.”
“I know,” he said softy.
